Like It Never Was

by Faith Gardner

That’s where I, Jolene Vero, waited. Crouched behind a felled tree covered in moss and vines. In a gorilla suit.

I thought I was a good person. But like love, goodness is never really unconditional.

In the end, I’ve accepted I occupy a strange space where I’m not quite sane and not quite insane, not quite sober, not quite an addict. I’m just a professional dropout. I’ve got commitment issues. I’m nearly thirty years old and I’m ten miles wide and one inch deep.

“I’m going to see what happens,” I say. “See where the universe takes me.”

A wise woman beyond your years/ deserts of loneliness, oceans of tears,”

When I picture my past, I picture an apocalyptic wasteland, burning cars and war-torn zombies.

The universe doesn’t care about you. The universe isn’t a grand puppet master pulling the strings, all right?”

You’re a wanderer.

But I’ve cried myself into a lovely shade of numb.

I am a piece of garbage. I am a rotten human being. I am a wriggling worm. I don’t deserve this life.

My dad’s apologies are often fired out of his mouth like bullets and don’t feel apologetic, and this was one of those times.